Episode 70C: Screaming on Belladonna Road
by Celtic Knot
Summary: Carlos has returned home from the Desert Otherworld, but the weirdness of Night Vale won't give Cecil a chance to stop and celebrate.


_Author's Note: Hello, Night Vale! Celtic Knot here, with my first WTNV fic. This takes place shortly after the events of Episode 70B: Review. I haven't yet listened much beyond that yet, but I'm getting caught up as fast as I can!_

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 **Episode 70C: Screaming on Belladonna Road**

 _And the beat goes on… and on... and on and on and on… louder and louder… the drums… oh God, the drums! The DRUMS!_

Welcome… to Night Vale!

Good evening, listeners, and isn't it a beautiful one? You know, I don't think I've ever really appreciated our little town until the exciting events at the New Old Opera House two nights ago. I'm so happy to still be here, and to call Night Vale home.

Before we get to the news, a personal note. As I mentioned during my coverage of the opera: Carlos is home! After over a year of being (not) trapped in the Desert Otherworld that turned out to just be our very own forbidden Dog Park, my wonderful, brilliant boyfriend has come home to me.

I didn't realize just how lost, how desolate I was while he was gone. You never really know what you have until it's gone, and… you can't really know how much it hurts to be without it until it comes back. Night Vale, I hope you never have to experience the crushing despair of having the one person you love most in the world (not) trapped just out of reach. But let's face it, you probably will. And when you do, I can only hope that you get to experience what it's like… to get them back. It is euphoria. It is heaven. I am whole again!

Anyhow, on to the news.

Our top story tonight: citizens report hearing bloodcurdling screams last night coming from the middle of the Media District—huh, that's my neighborhood—somewhere in the vicinity of Belladonna Road. The sounds were the primal, animal howls of something in fear for its very life—or perhaps, the roars of the thing causing that fear. Those who heard it cowered under their beds, in their closets, or in the underground emergency vaults we're all required by law to keep stocked with enough food and water to survive your average, run-of-the-mill apocalypse.

That's funny. _I_ live on Belladonna Road. I didn't hear anything last night. Maybe Carlos did? That would be strange. He can sleep through anything, even the deafening shriek of the sunrise. I'm usually the one waking up at the slightest growl in the night, and the softest skittering inside the walls.

I'll text him anyway. _Did… you… hear… anything… last… night?_ Send.

We'll see what he has to say in a little while—he's working on something enormously scientific tonight, and might not be able to answer right away. Ooh, I'm so proud of him! More on this story as it develops.

And now, traffic.

The Sheriff's Secret Police have set up checkpoints on all the main roads, side roads, and shady back alleys in Night Vale. They are stopping all vehicles and checking that registrations are current, licenses are valid, and all protective amulets and blood sigils are properly affixed to the front and rear windshields. Drivers will be compelled to take a breathalyzer test to ensure they are maintaining a minimum blood alcohol content. Any driver found not in compliance with traffic safety laws will be towed and impounded, and their cars sent home without their supper.

This has been: traffic.

Oh! Carlos just texted me back. He says, _I sure did, sweetie._ And there's a semicolon and a close-parenthesis. I wonder what that means. Maybe… maybe his hands are shaking so badly from the soul-sucking terror of those horrible screams (according to those who actually heard them) that he can't type properly! What if… what if whatever was making those sounds is still in our neighborhood? What if it's in our house? Stalking him? Maybe he's huddled in our emergency vault right now! Maybe this horrible thing is lurking just outside the six-inch-thick steel door, pounding on it, clawing at it, ripping it from his hinges to reach in and tear my poor Carlos apart! Oh God, I hope he's all right!

 _Are… you… okay?_ Send.

Listeners, I urge you to evacuate the Media District _immediately._ Leave your belongings, your pets, and your bloodstone circles behind, and run! Run for your very lives! Run, or be torn to shreds by this terrible beast of teeth and claws and roars!

I'm too distracted by the idea of Carlos in such awful, mortal danger to report any further. So while I sit here, biting my nails as I wait for him to respond, I'll leave you—to the weather.

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Okay. Um. Listeners… forget what I said about evacuating. Everything is fine. There is no terrible, roaring, screaming beast on Belladonna Road. There never was.

You see, I heard back from Carlos during the break. He said, _I'm better than okay. Last night was amazing. I want to—_

You know what? I'm not going to read the whole thing on the air. I know I share a lot of my personal life with you, Night Vale, but there are somethings that, no matter how close you and I have become, should remain… personal.

With that, my dear listeners, tonight's broadcast comes to an end, a little bit early. Stay tuned for about five minutes of dead air, followed by… pfft, I don't care. I have another hot date!

And so, as always, I bid you good night, Night Vale. Good night!


End file.
